


Pinned Down

by WizardSandwich



Series: Transformers Self-Insert Fics [4]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Banter, Betrayal, Defection, Other, Threats of Violence, cross-faction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26317495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WizardSandwich/pseuds/WizardSandwich
Summary: Jazz finds a curious thing in the Decepticon ranks.
Relationships: Jazz/Self-Insert, Soundwave & Self-Insert
Series: Transformers Self-Insert Fics [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1252994
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	Pinned Down

**Author's Note:**

> damn this really is a blatant self insert

The sniper’s nest is high off the ground, nestled into the rocks and away from the battlefield. Obscured from sight, it is the perfect vantage point.

Below, battle pulses on. Wizard can see the Decepticons pushing and fighting against the Autobot forces. It’s desperation at its finest, the clawing, a deep seeded kind that comes from the core. The Decepticons are starving.

And, for it, Wizard is glad to be so high up—so far away from it all. It’s cowardly, but they’re relieved for the safety. They are relieved for the distance. But they’ve never been brave, always preferring to be unseen than in sight. They’ve never been a fighter or a killer.

The distance of their scope is an apathy all of its own. It allows them to aim into the mess of frames, carefully aligning their crosshairs on a random Autobot frame—black and white. They pull down on the trigger. A dead Autobot is better than a living one and—as far as they can tell—there’s no way they’ll be able to find a target of value.

Their shot is deadly and silent. Their gun is a marvel of engineering. Their servos shake, because they are a coward and a weakling, but their aim is true. And they still miss.

The shot catches the Autobot’s arm, causing him to whirl around. A blue visor glows, searching around the battlefield. His gaze lifts. Even from this far away, his visor meets their optics.

Wizard realizes, in that instant, that they’ve made a mistake.

The Autobot is one they recognize, however vaguely. It is easy to forget about spies when you cannot see them, but now they are faced with irrefutable proof. Here stands an Autobot spy— _the_ Autobot spy— _Jazz_. He is the most dangerous mech they’re ever tried to kill.

He’s spotted them. If he decides they’re worth finding, their fate will be deadly.

They move to pull themselves to their pedes, stopping on their knees and folding up their rifle faster than they can think about it. They pull a standard blaster out of their subspace.

“Soundwave,” they open a commline without hesitation. Loyalty has afforded them this. They are allowed this disrespect. To Soundwave at the very least. “I’m changing positions.”

Soundwave hums across the line, “Acknowledged, Wizard. These coordinates are also optimal.”

Soundwave sends a silent databurst across the line. “Gotcha, boss,” Wizard acknowledges. “I’ll try to get there as soon as possible.”

“Reason for status change?” Soundwave asks and Wizard does not yet stand. It would not do to get distracted and killed. Too many good bots had gone that way.

“I chose too high profile of a target,” Wizard says after a moment. “Did you know that Jazz is out there? I thought this was just an energon mine.”

“Jazz?” Soundwave asks curiously. “This place has nothing of value.”

“I know,” Wizard says, because they do. Soundwave does not have to tell them this. They’ve seen the reports. “… Do you think they’re hiding something?”

Soundwave hesitates. Technically, his suspicions would be need to know, for High Command only. But they’re friends and Soundwave knows they would never betray him. He says, “Affirmative.”

“Frag,” Wizard curses.

“Indeed,” Soundwave agrees.

“Wizard out,” Wizard says, a farewell.

“Acknowledged.”

The commline goes dead and Wizard is left alone on their knees. They look up and Jazz is gone.

They stand, keeping their digit on their blaster’s trigger. They try to keep themselves alert, but they’re not observant. They have no natural talent for it. It’s why they ended up on a backwards planet like this where Shockwave conducts his research and Soundwave watches him.

It is only a place for the best of the best and the canon fodder. Wizard knows what they are. It does not stop them from valuing their life.

They place a servo on the rock wall, letting the metal of it scrape across the surface. It’s almost soothing enough to rid them of their paranoia and anxiety but not quite. Their steps echo in the emptiness of their alcove, accompanied by nothing other than the organic sounds of this organic planet. They are alone for the complex journey down.

Then, suddenly, without warning, they’re pressed against the rock. Their cheek presses against it, their arms restrained behind their back.

They flail and they’re pressed further against the rock. It hurts. They know when to give up a fight so they don’t even try to continue. Perhaps that is weak of them.

“What the frag,” Wizard says, almost flatly, for good measure. Just to seem a bit tougher. Or something.

“You’re a good shot,” a voice they don’t recognize says. “Got good optics for detail. Not very many bots can get close to taking me out.”

“Uhm,” Wizard says into the rock. Because most of that is very much not true. “I think you’re making the wrong assumptions here, sir.”

“Sir” because they’re polite. They’re more than sure they know who’s talking. There’s only one mech they’ve missed this cycle.

“’Sir,’” Jazz barks out a laugh. “Haven’t heard that one in a while.”

Wizard huffs, wiggling again. He tightens his grip again. “I’m not a heathen,” Wizard says. “Even if you’re going to kill me, I’m polite.”

“Still, ‘sir,’ really?” Jazz sounds amused. They don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing. It was often hard to tell with spies and they changed their minds often.

“Whatever,” Wizard huffs.

“You know, most mechs would be begging for their lives by now. And you’re just trying to be polite.”

“I don’t think I can really stop you if you want to kill me,” Wizard points out. “You’ve kind of got me pinned down. Literally and metaphorically.”

It would be a good joke, for them, if they were with someone they could laugh with, but as it is they’re not.

Jazz hums, lowly and almost melodic, leaning his weight against their back. “True, but you could try appealing to my empathy and all.”

“Damn, should’ve known I was missing a piece in my ‘if an Autobot tries to kill me’ plan,” Wizard mutters. “’Appeal to empathy.’”

It’s a little sarcastic, a little bitter, because it’s something they’ve considered. But as much as they’re a coward, they’re not a traitor. They’d never let Soundwave’s trust in them be misplaced. He is their dearest friend and the only bot who still cares about them.

Appealing to the Autobot’s empathy isn’t really an option.

“You’re either really stupid or really apathic,” Jazz says. “Don’t know which is better.”

“How about we go with the former? I’ve never been known for my wit.” Wizard wiggles. Again. This time the grip loosens, just a bit. They’re disarming, apparently. Just enough to make this less uncomfortable.

“I think you’re witty enough, mech,” he says, like they’re playing an game and Wizard is not stalling for their life. If it is a game, then it is a dangerous one, rife with traps. One wrong word and he could take their life.

“Thanks, I guess,” Wizard says. “Are you going to let me up? I’d like to see you face to face if we’re going to chatter.”

Jazz goes silent for a moment and then Wizard is whirled around to face him. It’s relieving to see his face, to know that they’re right in all of their guessing. As much as they were sure, they were never _sure._

“Nice visor,” Wizard says.

Jazz laughs again. Wizard seems to be good at making that sound escape him. It’s, for all intents and purposes, a nice laugh. The kind that they had imagined their conjunx having when they were young and full of dream, back when they thought that romance happened and that the Senate didn’t try to steal it from them. It’s full and warm, even if it’s not entirely genuine.

“You’re a real piece of work,” Jazz says.

“So I’ve been told,” Wizard concedes. “Now, are you here to kill me or put the fear of Unicron in me?”

“How do you know I’m not a disciple of Primus?” Jazz—he doesn’t tease, because teasing would imply familiarity—jokes. But perhaps joking is too kind of a description.

Wizard considers for a moment, “I know what divinity looks like.” Their bark is not as bad as their bite.

“Is it ugly then?” Jazz’s grin turns more genuine, enough that they can notice how sharp it was in the first place.

“Prettier than you,” they say, though that is a lie. Jazz is beautiful. He may be the enemy but Wizard has always had optics.

“Hard to imagine,” he returns.

“Then you need to stop looking in the mirror,” they say, because they know they’re a jerk and they’re willing to take advantage of it.

“Primus, you really are a piece of work,” Jazz says, exasperation seeping into his tone. “I was joking but Primus. You really see a mech who can kill you and you snark him of all things.”

“I don’t have a self-preservation instinct and my mouth runs faster than my processor,” Wizard dutifully informs, because it’s the truth. Shockwave had informed them of that enough times. It is not really information that Jazz can use to hurt them.

“I can tell.”

Jazz finally takes a step back, giving them a semblance of space. But they aren’t under any illusions. Jazz can kill them and probably will if they make a wrong move. They’re no closer to being free or safe.

Wizard falls silent, not really sure of what to say. They’re stumped again. They can only take a conversation so far before their lack of social skills kicks in. They’re really only good at being mean.

“I should kill you,” Jazz informs after a long minute. “You’re good at your job.”

“The shooting thing? Or the finding targets?” Wizard asks. “Because, yeah, I’m good at shooting. But finding you was lucky.”

“Being good at shooting is reason enough to kill you,” Jazz responds. “Can’t have little bots like you killing Autobots.”

“I sense a ‘but.’” Wizard shifts, crossing their arms and resting their weight on their right leg.

Jazz nods, “There’s a ‘but.’”

“And?”

“I think you could be a real good Autobot,” Jazz says. It’s an offer. A terms of service. Their life in exchange for their skills. “You ain’t needlessly cruel.”

“You don’t know that,” Wizard says, almost immediately. “I could be crueler than you think.”

Jazz shakes his helm, reaching out his servo to touch their arm. “I wouldn’t be any good at my job if I couldn’t read a bot like you from a mile away. Plus, we’ve got your file. You’re a medic, so even if you don’t enjoy shooting…”

He trails off but the implication is there.

And the offer wraps around their spark.

They’re tired of being the bad guy, of destroying organic worlds. They know they stay out of a cruel kind of misplaced loyalty that they’ve always had. They know that their life is not as linear as they want it to be. They cannot spend their days as Soundwave’s, as Shockwave’s, ghost.

“Let me think about it,” they almost plead.

Jazz’s lips twist down into a frown. “How do I know you won’t tell Soundwave about this?”

“You said you were good at your job,” they bite back, tone much harsher than before. “So get great and tell me if you think even telling Soundwave about this offer wouldn’t put me under fragging suspicion.”

“The mind reading—”

“He trusts me, alright?” Wizard interrupts, taking a step back and pressing their doorwings against cold stone. “He trusts me. We’re friends. He won’t—he won’t look, alright, sir?”

Jazz’s frown grows deeper. Perhaps he can sense all of their inner conflict. Nonetheless, he nods. “Alright. I’ll check in within the quartex.”

Wizard nods, letting their gaze drop to their pedes. They don’t look up until they’re sure he’s gone. When they do, the heavy feeling in their spark doesn’t disappear even without him. They’re not dead and he has not harmed them but…

They feel gutted nonetheless.


End file.
